


Masquerade

by Bibliophile030



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And the most negligent parent of the century award goes to..., Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, History of the True Earthlings, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Skull, True-Earthling Skull, Who is Skull?, Why sealing is always a terrible idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-02 10:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21159830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliophile030/pseuds/Bibliophile030
Summary: Who is Skull? He's the actor, the stageman, the showman.But before he was Skull, he was-And before he was Cloud, he had-He had a family (shattered, torn, scattered across the earth).He had a mother who loved him (so much darkness and hidden pain in her eyes, she was already gone even when he had him right there for as short of a time as it was).He had a father (smiling, always smiling, but it turned bitter and brittle when he thought the child wasn't looking) who took pride in him.But that was before he became an Arcobaleno, before he became Skull.The weakest, a civilian thrown out among the sharks. A no one in the mafia. A crybaby. A Lackey.And above it all, human.He may have had been born to a different name, different life, but this is his life now.He is Skull. For Skull is all anyone will ever see again.





	1. Putting on a Mask

He knew. He always knew since the moment the Man-in-the-Iron-Hat just appeared after one of his shows.

He reacted as expected of a hapless civilian, flailing around and sputtering denials.

It’s been so long since he became Skull de Mort, wandering aimlessly from one gig to another, running off when uncontrolled purple fire suddenly burst free, usually after what is supposed to be a fatal accident.

(_Sloppy_ he would tell himself but then be reassured those other times when no one showed up, especially a certain group of sharply dressed mummies – not that he would ever say that to the Vindice’s faces, of course).

“W-who are you!? How’d you get in here?” Skull stuttered. _Fake. _But his act was solid_._ He did grow up with one of the best actors, and he was a stuntman, a showman and man of theater and drama.

Acting was kind of his thing.

“Do you ever wonder how you survive, oh World’s Greatest Stuntman. You, the one they call the Immortal Skull, a man hated by the gods of death. If you accept my offer, you will have your answers,” offered the man with the half-checkered face and gleaming metal hat.

Skull didn’t give anything away, pulling his very real fear and confusion to the forefront as his mind raced. “What offer?” he asked, as warily as any civilian who awoke their Dying Will flames and were out of their depths.

Confused and surprised with a dash of naive curiosity.

At least, he hoped he sounded like that.

“To attend a meeting in a few days. A meeting between those with powers like yours, powers as _strong _as yours: the _I Presleti Sette. _The Strongest Seven.”

_The Arcobaleno, _his mind echoed. A clear pacifier was flipped into the air as the man announced the implied acceptance of Skull among them.

The Seven Strongest, the humans with the most powerful flames of their generation. It was funny. World’s Strongest, yet no one remembers how the full title is the World’s Seven Strongest _Babies_.

Powerful Mist illusions altered the underground’s memories of what and who the members of the Strongest Seven were in the past, swamp uneasiness and confusion with acceptance of the seven’s new selves.

Better not to laugh hysterically. _Or keep silent_ Skull silently reprimands himself. The Man-in-the-Iron-Hat was waiting for the stuntman’s response.

“Answers? Who says I, the Great Skull, need answers to anything?” the purple-haired man haughtily counters. “And why do I need to join these Strongest Seven to find answers if I really do need them? They sound like a bunch of arrogant pricks if you ask me.”

“If wouldn’t hurt to first meet them before making assumptions,” the man chided softly, Cheshire grin never missing a beat.

Reluctantly, Skull accepted the pacifier and offer; he didn’t have much choice judging by the subtle hint of Mist flames seeping through the air and his mind, urging him to attend the meeting.

To accept the title.

The man lied; the Strongest Seven _were_ made up of arrogant pricks.

But, did Skull expect anything else from people who hauled themselves through the underworld’s bloody depths to stand at the top as most dangerous individuals, conquerors of that darkness?

Then there was him, Skull. A great stuntman, sure. Even the greatest as his benefactor first introduced him as.

But a civilian nonetheless.

Worthless. Pathetic. _Weak._

A burden on this crew of professionals.

To Reborn, Lal Mirch, practically everyone here except Luce and (maybe) Fon, he was an insult to the title of the Seven Strongest.

Even that interloper Skull knew was lurking around the edges of countless missions and meetings between the seven over the past year thought the same. He could practically feel the roil of unusually boisterous Rain flames buzzing in disappointment and barely concealed distaste of his boisterous and childish personality.

Maybe Skull should have broken, should have told them what fate awaited them who would claim the title of Arcobaleno.

But he feared the reaction of their benefactor too much (and he was always a bit cowardly, more so after what he did to his own Flames. If he could, he would have never used any of them ever again. If only his Flames would agree with that sentiment).

A year’s worth of missions. Then they climbed that forsaken mountain.

(How many others have walked these same worn steps? How many lives ruined, sacrifice for the sake of the world?)

Cue lightshow and the unveiling of what _I Prescelti Sette_ truly means.

If there was one thing Skull was thankful for from his fellow elements under the same curse (and never the same Sky; Luce could never be that for him), it was the lessons they beat into him. Not so much the mafia-based ones (Skull hated taking lives, hated seeing blood being spilled so easily, the last flash of light going out from now-dull eyes) but the Flame-based ones.

Skull knew how to use his Clouds Flames in theory, but the application kind of escaped him. As much as he resented the mafiosi, their lessons did improve his skills and stopped the unexpected bursts of Cloud flames outside his miraculous recoveries.

(The first time he rose from certain death in this ‘family’ of theirs, he actually managed to unnerve the ever suave Reborn. The hitman then tried to shoot him for his “unbecoming look”, and Skull had to keep on high-alert when around or paired with Verde, but it was still satisfying to see these powerful men and woman falter for just a moment)

So, with his newly honed skills, Skull propagated the heck out of the dust around him, sending up a huge cloud of it around them before making his escape from the scene.

Luckily, the others were still in too big of a state of shock to try and follow him.

Skull knew the moment he put that pacifier into his hands, his fate was sealed, so he made provisions in secret. He had a safehouse no one knew about and fully furnished for his expected new height and reach.

For now, he would chill there.

And have a breakdown (Reborn and the rest would have been quite surprised to see how Skull could destroy his surroundings just as well as any Cloud in a fit of rage and despair).

Skull may be an easygoing member of his flame type, but instincts were instincts, just not held to the surface like other Clouds. Both out of experience and out of _other_ factors.

Once he finished destroying his furniture, Skull quietly went downstairs to the basement where he kept extra everything. He knew himself well enough to know how he reacted to Bad situations (bad was losing his stuff or getting lost or being beaten up by Reborn or Colonnello. Bad was his mother’s death, his father’s emotional separation from _everything_).

Skull still had some funds, from both his past jobs as a stuntman to the money he earned on the Arcobaleno missions (_blood money_ his mind whispered. _Shut up_ he shot back mentally).

But it wouldn’t last forever. Skull in his current form would never be accepted for any job in the normal world.

So, eventually he slunk back into the world of fire and blood, of deals and death.

He was Skull, the man hated by death, the Weakest Arcobaleno.

He was also a liar, a deceiver.

He should have told them. Better they had pitted their frustration out on him (better than seeing Fon’s implacable look of calm fragment into rage, Reborn’s utter look of betrayal, Verde’s tentative grasp on sanity begin to slip, Viper’s hysteria and denials, Colonnello’s despair or Lal’s frozen expression and pain as her Flames cracked in two).

At least he would have given them a chance, to run from their fate even as he knew he himself would have stayed back, would have distracted Checkerface as they have come to call the specter haunting their cursed lives. He was perhaps the only one who _could. _

For all their death threats, the Vindice didn’t even have the fraction of power to combat Checkerface (Flames of the Night were powerful, but they were _substitutes;_ they would never compare to Flames born from one’s natural _living_ will and the will of the world itself).

But what was done was done. Maybe if he was someone else, but he was Skull now.

And he’ll be Skull until his dying day. He swore it on the Flames that were and now was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that's a lot more support than I expected. Can't make any promises on how often I update this, though. I only have a vague idea of what I want to do with the story, so I'm open to suggestions, inspiration, and your comments. For now, enjoy the other two chapters I written so far.

_(“Father,” a younger Skull – not Skull then but…_

_“Yes, Lorien?” a gentle voice replied. The figure was undefined, a blur of shadow and color and lines that should form an image but didn’t._

_“When will Mama come home?” Lorien that was asked, childlike innocent palpable._

_The older man, his father, furrowed his pale eyebrows._

_Still smiling, edge apparent to the spectator but not the child, the man answered, “Perhaps someday, child. Your mother is still mad at your papa.”_

_“About what?” the boy asked, expression pinched and uncomprehending. Back then, he didn’t understand the problems of his elders, didn’t know what the tense silences and equal exchange of disapproval meant for his little family._

_The man hummed, “Simply a difference of opinions. Now, I think it’s time for your lessons, child.”)_

Skull resisted the urge to hide away in his assigned room. He had a job to do (as much as he loathed it).

One of his more regular patrons (unfortunately) were the Carcassa Famiglia. They were, as Reborn-senpai would politely call them (read: sneer), one of the lowliest of families. Not like the fallen Estraneo’s (*shudder*, as low as his standards went for employment, Skull drew a line when it came to _child experimentation_), the Carcassa dealt in drug trafficking, money laundering, fraud, and a lot of other seedy dealings. Typical, messy, deep underworld things.

As long as they didn’t deal with children (_directly_ Skull amended, looking into a mirror), he reluctantly went along with some of their less shady jobs.

A mercenary with the title of Weakest Arcobaleno and a civilian background did what he had to do to keep food on the table.

Although, Skull wasn’t too keen on the last-minute plot to invade Mafialand.

Where one of his senpai’s were very publicly acknowledged among the mafiosi to be one of the current guardians of the moving island.

And the Don thought this amount of firepower would be enough, sans _true _firepower (they weren’t exactly a prominent Flame Active Family, after all).

As expected, his men were blasted and fired upon from hell and back, but at least not too many died in the first rush. He took the strongest fighters through the forest for an ambush. With Oodako, his precious companion, he should be able to put up a decent fight, at least.

_Why does Fate hate me?!_ Skull wanted to howl to the sky even as tried to think his way out of this mess of an invasion.

There in the treetops was the last person Skull wanted to see: Reborn.

New game plan: minimize casualties.

Ignore the poorly thought out and stitched-together plan. Ignore the super soldier guardian currently in residence.

Heck, ignore the flock of _very powerful and trigger-happy _Dons and Donnas on the island. This was _Reborn_. Even if he used the invasion as a training exercise, the Sun Arcobaleno was a mafia-tutor; if his charge looked like he was going to die outside a sanctioned fight or mission, he would step in and _personally_ stop them.

They were screwed, and no one thought of backing down or calling off the fight.

Then the bastard oh so casually remarked about turning his animal familiar into sushi.

_How would you like some exotic chameleon tartes_ he wanted to fire back, but bit his tongue instead and snapped, “Don’t talk so casually about such things, Senpai!”

“And exactly what are you doing here, hmm?” continued the black-eyed chibi hitman.

“The Carcassa assigned me as their battle commander for the invasion. If you stand against me, Reborn-senpai, that makes you the enemy!”

“Ttch, you’ll always be such an errand-boy, Lackey.”

“I’LL SHOW YOU LACKEY!” Skull growled. “Only you and Colonnello-senpai treat me that way, but no more!”

With a twist of his fingers, Oodako’s tentacles moved to capture the hitman.

* * *

Skull should not have let his temper get away from him; Reborn turned his hand into a giant clenched fist, rendering his companion puzzled and at a lost of what was going on. Then Reborn smashed his helmet-clad face into the ground without mercy.

Colonnello wrapped things up with the Carcassa, his rifle wiped them out in vast swathes.

The remaining troops took one look, grabbed as many of their downed comrades as possible, and finally high-tailed it out of there.

Without Skull himself.

“Aargh…”

“Pathetic, they just left you behind, Lackey,” Colonnello scoffed.

Skull silently agreed, but for appearance’s sake, he pouted and whined denial at the blond baby, earning a swift kick to the side. Violet flames surged under his suit, propagating his body’s natural healing ability. He wasn’t a Sun, but the sheer amount of Cloud Flames he carried lent itself to his reputed ‘immortality’.

Although, he was hard to kill anyways _without_ his Flames…

“Umm, isn’t that too much?” a nervous voice stuttered out.

Skull pulled off his helmet and got a good luck at the poor sap trying to convince his senpai’s to _not_ mistreat him.

His first thought was _why the hell is there a brunet-version of Giotto running around?_ His second thought grounded to a halt the moment he took the offered hand (probably too trusting a gesture, but something in Skull’s instincts said it would be okay, plus he _was _a sort-of-not-really-civilian once-upon-a-time, so meh).

Sky flames were expected in any future boss, especially for the future boss of the Vongola Famiglia and the unmistakable descendent of Giotto (seriously, who got ahold of a two century old DNA sample and tried their hand at splicing? Genetics shouldn’t work like that when Skull knew for a fact the blond man moved to Japan and his descendants rarely left the islands ever since then. Must be the influx of immigration this past century).

Then Skull saw it.

Sky flames of ridiculous purity, their intensity contrary to the pitiful volume he felt.

Flames not of the same Sky buried deep within, enveloping (strangling) the owner’s Flames. A strange, unnatural _cold-warmth_ locking the brunet’s pure Flames beneath crystalized fire, only a small amount escaping (suspiciously new) cracks permeating the structure.

That sparked of something else at work. _Like a seal, _Skull’s mind hissed.

Sealing Inactive users happened, especially with civilians on the path toward going active or who may become potential problems (illegitimate heirs with a grudge, children of fallen enemy Famiglie, etc.).

Sealing Active users was a whole other thing, though.

Flames were born of the soul, a potent and sometimes visible expression of a person’s whole resolve. The body didn’t stop producing the Flames just because someone threw a lid over them. And, just like superheated air trapped in a glass jar, sooner or later, something would give and give violently. If they didn’t just burst through the obstruction, cracks would naturally accumulate, so the pressure wouldn’t be bad at that point but there were other consequences: Flames would be released slowly from their prison but twisted and wrong.

Then came the shattering and, well…

Skull seen the aftermath of that. Not pretty. Those lucky few whose bodies and minds didn’t break with their seals were never quite the same mentally or physically, and a couple didn’t live to see the next decade.

To seal a Sky, someone who drew people naturally to their cause, whose flame instincts were more tightly woven to their biology and mind than other Flames? If the seal wasn’t removed soon, the side-effects could become deadly very quickly, especially with the onset of puberty. And long before that meltdown, trickles of not-right Flames would have seeped past, their nature distorted from their passage.

And here he had a young teenaged Sky whose Flames were even purer and brighter than Luce’s Flames prior to the curse for all they still carried a hint of something off.

And with Flames far too dense to ever consider the sealing option in the first place. The kid’s saving grace was his Sky Flames acted rather calm (scarily so) and were not barreling into the seal every other second. 

Skull couldn’t stop himself as he raged, “What the ever-fucking hell, Senpai? Who in their right mind would put a seal on a Sky?! A young and Active one!”

“What?” the Japanese youth yelped.

The sound of a gun cocking echoed.

“What was that, Lackey?”

Dark and sinuous, promising death if Skull revealed too much.

Too bad the stuntman couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – hold back his tongue. “You’re a Sky,” he gently informed the teen, resisting the urge to screech as a bullet nearly clipped his ear. _I’ve been Skull too long, _dimly flitted through his racing mind. “You have the special ability of Harmony, drawing others to you naturally; a born leader.”

At the Vongola Decimo’s bewildered expression, Skull soldiered on, “You would probably be well-liked and intuitive if you didn’t have a seal on your Flames – Flames are an expression of your soul in not so many words. The power to survive death, to risk it all for a purpose. It looks like what it sounds, a kind of odd-colored fire-”

“Enough, Lackey.”

A black shoe impacted right on his already healed ribs, punting Skull through the air

“Reborn!” squeaked the brunet.

“Dame-Tsuna, grab the Lackey. I’ll be having a _discussion_ with him about secrets and big mouths shortly.”

Skull should definitely be frightened if he hadn’t finally crashed into something hard that clanged as skull met metal.

He probably should have put his helmet back on.

Should the world be this fuzzy and bright?

No, wait, it was getting dark…


	3. Chapter 3

Once upon a time, Lorien didn’t wield purple fire but the Flames of his parents. Both were bright and near equal in quality and strength.

Something happened. His very world rocked onto the precipice. His soul felt like it fractured when he finally realized the truth.

Realized everything he knew was a lie.

That he knew less than what a frog in a well knew.

His Flames surged then…nothing.

He ran.

If he didn’t have his Flames, he was nothing (and maybe that was for the best).

Years and years later, an accident occurred…

Death rushed toward him then fire bloomed once more.

* * *

Skull opened bleary eyes. White walls and the bitter smell of disinfectants greeted him.

“Skull-san?”

The purple-haired baby jerked up, flailing his arms and nearly tumbling from the hospital bed.

“Fuck, don’t scare me like that, kid!” Skull cursed as he pulled himself up properly. The brunet Giotto doppelganger shrunk back.

_Okay, maybe not like Giotto._ The vigilante Sky was never that shy. Naïve and a bit subdued at times, but shy?

“Shit, sorry for scaring you,” Skull apologized. “By the way…where the hell is the great and awesome Skull?”

“This is Mafialand’s clinic. Reborn threw you in here after you didn’t respond to how much he…kicked, electrocuted, and even tried using grenades as an alarm clock!”

Ttch. Typical Reborn to escalate things quickly.

“Sheesh, is he trying to kill Skull dead? Permanent dead?” Skull complained bitterly. “ ‘cause, don’t know about you, but those methods sure sound like he was trying to make sure Skull-sama _didn’t_ wake back up. No wonder I feel like crap.”

“Don’t complain, Lackey, for being so weak,” a very much unappreciated squeaky voice interrupted them.

Those pitiless black eyes tried to bore into his purple ones.

“Lackey, I think it’s time for that talk. Dame-Tsuna, get out.”

“B-but…Skull-san just wok-”

“Did I stutter like a certain dame-student of mine? Also, expect double-training sessions tomorrow. Mafia bosses are confident, they don’t stutter or sound uncertain of their desires.”

Reborn punctuated his point by shooting. At both of them.

“Hie! Alright, I’m going already, Reborn!”

Skull watched silently as the teenager scampered out.

They were alone.

“Lackey, are you trying to get arrested?” Reborn questioned with a sneer.

“No. I didn’t even want to be part of the Mafia.” _How many times do I have to tell you guys this?_

“Quit your bellyaching about the past. You _are_ a part of it now. And as a member of the _Costa Nostra,_ you do not go blabbing to anyone about our secrets, especially about Flames. What, did you have the audacity to forget my lesson on _Omerta_?” Reborn’s Leon-gun clicked ominously in the empty room.

“No.”

A bullet grazed his uncovered cheek.

“Then why, pray tell, did you go and talk to Dame-Tsuna about it?”

“Well, if he is going to be the Vongola Decimo, he’s going to find out anyways considering all major powers including Vongola are headed by Flame Actives. I, mean, what the hell did the kid think? That the fire on his forehead was just for looks?”

Another bullet.

“Oho, someone seems to have found a mouth. Not surprising with the kind of filth you run with, Lackey. But know this, I won’t tolerate you bumbling around and interfering with my tutoring.”

Skull narrowed his eyes.

He was done. If it was some other Flame type or child, maybe he would have fallen back into his dumb civilian-still-trying-to-manage-mafia-life mask. But this was Giotto’s how-many-greats-grandson.

Giotto was a friend of his, one of his few friends his damn too long life.

(Meeting him, seeing _her_…it changed everything).

“I never took you for one of those guys who was okay with the practice of sealing, Reborn,” the Cloud stated quietly, calmly.

Reborn stiffened.

_Aha._ A chink. So, Reborn wasn’t happy with what he found, either.

Internally, Skull smirked. He could work with that.

“Did your boss remember to tell you about it? Or did he expect you, the Number One Everything, to just know that and how to break the seal without breaking the kid along the way? Well?”

Skull was suddenly hauled off the bed, tiny hands wrapping around his collar

“_Do not_, question your betters, Lackey.” _Never question me_. _Or what I can do._

“It’s not like I’m insulting you, Senpai,” Skull choked out. “Just making an observation. The seal is already cracking. Dying Will Bullets, right? You are the best of everything, and I have no doubts the World’s Strongest Sun knows when to keep pushing and when to lay off when it comes to someone’s health. I just thought you might appreciate a second pair of eyes maybe?”

Skull did not squeak when Reborn tossed him against the head of the bed, bare head (where was his helmet?) slamming into the quality wood of the frame.

“You? Why would I need you for anything, Lackey?” the hitman scoffed.

Skull, for whole minutes, just stared into the ceiling. He could feel Reborn’s increasing irritation despite his ever-stoic appearance.

But that was only on a very base level (“Pay attention, _Lackey! _If you keep daydreaming, you’ll die for real!”).

Skull’s eyes turned inward. Beyond thought and mind and the secret things he would rather not contemplate rattling in his mess of a head. Looked into his very soul.

Purple Cloud Flames floated and drifted sedately. So different from a normal Cloud’s Soul Fire which raged and snapped, a feral beast with mind and teeth.

But then again, that wasn’t all that was there in Skull’s soul.

Deeper and deeper he went until he found the places where purple deepened and brightened. Sparks of velvety indigo shimmered, barely seen. And fainter still gleamed the gilded gold of a sunset.

Mist and Sky Flames. Or the remnants left of them before Lorien broke them until only these pathetic embers were all he had left. Slowly, so slowly, Skull coaxed Lorien’s Sky up. Cloud Flames reached to wrap around them, to keep them hidden (to keep them safe and tucked away from the world which he couldn’t face, not with these Flames). Skull persisted.

Bit by bit, in what seemed like hours (but were only seconds), the glinting orange breached that place between soul and body.

In the outward realm, Reborn could only widen his eyes (the equivalent of openly gaping with jaws down) as he felt something he did not expect.

Calm. Peace. Acceptance absolute.

And all-consuming emptiness.

Sky Flames, wholly unbound Sky Flames, barely there, but they rang so pure even his own solitary Flames tried to rise up to meet those small flickers.

(Reborn squashed the urge, just barely)

Skull opened his eyes, and they were no longer Cloud-violet but dark with hints of glittering orange.

The moment lasted but a second, two, three…

Then they were gone.

Reality hit Reborn with a single thought: _Skull is a fucking Sky?_

Their Cloud had Sky Flames. Sky Flames which were the purest Reborn ever felt yet somehow weaker than even Tsuna’s which were sealed by Timoteo (who else, it certainly wasn’t Baka-Iemitsu).

“Sometimes, there are things a person can’t face,” Skull finally whispered. His words were soft, but they seemed to echo in the room. The usual whining tone disappeared, a strange old-sounding lilt accenting his words.

It was like someone else was speaking and not Skull.

“It hurt me to my very soul. For the longest of time, I didn’t have any Flames.”

Drifting, moving, never connecting.

Among humans, but never one of them.

Until he stumbled upon a traveling circus. He saw his first motorcycle (the first one he had seen properly and not about to run him over as he walked and walked and walked), and a part of him finally stirred.

Interest.

Some sweet talking and a signed liability waiver later, the kid took his first ever bike ride. And the rest became history. No, it became _Skull’s_ history, his very beginning. The next natural step: riding more. Faster. More danger. Joining that circus-

“Then I died.” _Then I lived. _

_And a Mist-strewn Sky became a Cloud._

“I know what your student is going through, a bit. Different situations, I know. But…I can’t let what happened to me happen to him. You felt it. My Flames…they changed and there’s hardly anything left of my old ones. And I know, I know, don’t underestimate you, and Tsuna is already well on his way to recovery. But I still can’t…”_ He couldn’t risk that possibility._

Once upon a time he was a Misty Sky.

Then he wasn’t, Flames stifled even as they wanted to rage against reality, buried too deeply.

They inverted, turn on themselves, tore into two pieces, three, ten, a hundred…millions of shards until only gray ash sifted through Lorien’s soul-scape.

Lorien sealed himself, and his original Flames died while Skull awaken new Cloud in their place.

Sawada was lucky. His Flames weren’t as volatile, stirred by a festering slew of emotions too complex to name. They slept under the other Sky’s ice, perhaps restlessly but not destroying themselves.

Not yet.

* * *

Right now they were in a delicate half-awake state. They could either be gently coaxed back up from their embers, breaking the seal and refamiliarizing themselves with the young teen’s body. Or they could be provoked into a wildfire, cracking the seal too quickly, Flames flooding a body not used to bearing their own soul’s power.

(And once that process started, there was very little chance the Flame user would survive it, and those who did would never be able to use Flames again, their minds always ravaged by the experience and unable to support a Dying Will)

Reborn was the best person to deal with someone like Tsuna. Out of all of them, he was the most perceptive, the most sensitive to Flames (Skull was like that once, but the skill had fractured just like him).

But Skull just couldn’t leave things be.

He never could.

Skull closed his mouth, unable to string together the words. He waited nervously for Reborn’s response.

Minutes dragged.

Skull howled as a green hammer smacked into his skull.

“Idiot, Lackey,” Reborn growled. “How dare you keep this secret from us? And don’t yell. That was just a tap compared to what I’ll do to you later.”

Okay, so should Skull consider that a yes, he may come back to Japan with Reborn and try to help Tsuna out with his Flames?

_(“Skies are always stronger when they help out one another,” a voice from too long ago advised, gentle arms cradling his small form. “Not all Skies get along, but the ones that do, it’s something else. We nurture one another, reminding ourselves there are others who feel that same loneliness, the longing for something more. Even when we do find our anchors, there will always be that sense of boundlessness, of being other. We may not be able to really fill that particular need for one another, but there is some wisdom in the idea that the small bit of ‘sky’ you see, and I see are ultimately part of one big sky. Do you understand, my dearest heart? In the end, we are _all _connected under the heavens.”)_

(Somewhere in the distance, a white-haired shop owner’s head came up sharply, eyes narrowing beneath flashing lenses. It was only for a moment, but for one infinitesimal moment he had felt a faint…tugging on his Flames. Like from a bond. But that was impossible as the ancient being’s bonds have all severed long ago. Surely someone as powerful as he would have noticed if he had formed a new one at any point)

(But if the True Earthling ever tried looking past his grief, see through the illusion he wove unto himself subconsciously, he would have realized nestled in the furthest corner of his soul the thin barely-there thread linking parent to child, Mist to similar remnant Mist and Sky)

* * *

As expected, Reborn made Skull pay for all the damages incurred during the invasion and for a return ticket to Japan on the Mafialand cruise ship.

Actually, they didn’t really want him on the boat but having Reborn standing menacingly behind him (he wasn’t going to run, Senpai!) helped smoothed the process and not have Skull lynched.

He was rooming with Tsuna’s Storm who apparently had snuck aboard the ship, so Skull made sure to pay for his return ticket…and whatever bribes to make sure there were no hard feelings.

_So much money_, Skull nearly wept. He got a compensation fee for the Carcassa job (like normally, they weren’t the most competent of families, so Skull always asked for some sort of restitution fee for his time. See, Senpai, I do listen!), but those bills just kept adding up.

Sawada-san was a very nice lady and didn’t seem at all worried about having another addition to her household. Skull resolved to help make things easy for her by watching over the little kids like I-Pin (wait, wasn’t she Fon’s kid? His student, that is), Fuuta and Lambo. He had practice with this sort of thing, and those three couldn’t be nearly as a handful as the brat he usually looked aft-

“Oh crap!”

Skull needed to make a few phone calls, stat!

* * *

“Lackey, what is this?”

Skull was glad for his helmet since it gave him the illusion Reborn couldn’t read his expressions through the visor very clearly.

“What is what, Reborn-senpai?” Skull dithered.

Leon-the-gun found his way to the spot between Skull’s eyes as Reborn jabbed him with the end of the barrel.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, _Lackey._”

“Mou, there is a scary black-eyed devil. Luckily, Nii-san is distracting him,” the Skull’s unexpected guest casually remarked.

Fran was an adorable eight-year-old – theoretically. Mint green eyes and matching hair with strange black triangles at the bottom corners, he was definitely unconventional-looking. Kind of like Skull. Anyways, Fran was his beloved little brother Skull accidentally stumbled upon when he was wandering the French wilderness a few years back.

One look at the tiny child’s illusioned apple hat, and Skull knew Fran was family. Which, yeah, totally blindsided him. And terrified a no small part of him.

(His father’s way of remaining in this world, of nurturing just a bit of caring for the race to have supplant his own. A way to honor Skull’s late mother, maybe? It wasn’t like he ever got the chance to ask the intimidating man, and frankly, Skull did not want to have that kind of conversation. Ever.

So, every once in a while, his sire would get into a relationship with a human. Okay, yeah, he got that – sort of. But this was the first child Skull ever found. Luckily, little Fran didn’t look like their father much except for their straight hair. And that expression. Maybe Skull should have rethought this. But! It wasn’t noticeable when Fran had his hat materialized, and since Fran always wore an illusioned hat, problem solved!)

Thank the gods Fran’s Flames were only unusually powerful for his age and not like Skull’s own at eight. And thank his father for having some common sense and leaving the child in a very remote area where mafiosi would hardly find themselves. Not even the Vindice would detect the kid with the powerful (if kind of old and fragmenting) Mist ward up.

Although, just up and leaving after his wife’s passing was seriously messed up. And Skull just couldn’t do the same, forgetting about the little illusionist who was all alone with his aging and somewhat senile grandmother.

Fran was a handful of a bratty little brother, but family was family (even if his was always leaving each other behind).

He promised to be there for the kid, and that meant Skull couldn’t go and abandon Fran with his Carcassa babysitters.

Frankly, they were kind of last resort sitters since for they were kind of terrified of the kid for some reason. There was a story there, but at the mutterings of evil fruit monsters, Skull chalked up the matter as a Mist-thing.

…what? He never fit the mafia’s idea of Mist personality stereotypes, he was more up-and-front and not particularly deceiving (too busy deceiving himself).

A bullet slammed into the side of his helmet, not enough to break it, but the momentum knocked him off his feet. Skull threw up his hands.

“Stop shooting! Fran is an impressible kid!”

Skull told Reborn everything.

Everything barring how Fran was actually related to him. That was a can of snakes he did not need in his already rickety house-of-cards life. Reborn did not need to know about his family life, plus then the conversation would lead to how Skull could have an eight-year-old half-brother when he had been a cursed infant for the last twenty-odd years, and-

So, yeah. Just stick with the less-likely-to-end-with-a-bullet-in-head bullshit story mixed with little shards of the truth.

Fran was a kid he found in the French wilds with his senile granny the great Skull took pity when he saw his very Active Mist flames. And being the great and generous heart he was, Skull more or less kidnapped him with granny’s permission to live with Skull in the Carcassa Famiglia.

There. End of story. Fran calling him big brother wasn’t that much different than the de Stella, Bovino, and Triad kids calling the Decimo that, too.

Right?

Reborn looked satisfied with his answer, so it was all good!

(At least, that was what Skull told himself, consciously ignoring the calculating gleam in the other Arcobaleno’s eyes)

(There was something off about Skull, and Reborn was going to chart every inconsistency before using them to strangle the answers out of the Cloud who was also a Sky hiding under all their collective noses. No one got one over the hitman, never mind the Lackey)

(Later, Skull would sob about how he should have just let Fran live a happy (sort of), safe (not at all) life with his grandmother away from his hot mess of a life in the mafia.

Because there was no chance some bratty arrogant kids or scary-ass mafiosi will come after Fran in the future because of his gifts. No one knew about his Mist Flames.

…right?)

(Some day, Skull would remark about such a thing within Byakuran’s hearing, and the Mare Sky will cheerfully recount how that very scenario played out in one of his alternative future lives where Tsuna’s crazy male Mist, his minions, and most of the freaking Varia came after a very alone Fran. Skull turned away and started beating his head against the nearest flat surface asking why the fates hated him in all realities)


End file.
